Keen
by giraffelove92
Summary: "She glanced at the sword one last time, remembering its keen edge hewing through flesh and bone. Bile rose once again in her throat, and she shoved it down. The blade glimmered in the light, mocking her." Next to him, the sharp blade seems mild in comparison. Elejah. Smut.


**So I know I should be finishing Propositions, and I will update that soon, I promise, but this idea just would not let me go. It's gnawing at me. I have to put it to rest before I attempt to do anything else. **

**I'm not entirely sure **_**when**_** this is supposed to be set in the series, and I don't really care much because when it comes to Elejah I feel like I can take any liberties I want, because they are just awesome. But Klaus is being his typical git self in this fic, even though he doesn't actually appear. Imagine that Original Hybrid Prat #1 has decided to pursue Elena after the whole debacle with his mom, and Elijah has been aiding her in avoiding him for the last couple of years. In this story Elena, through intelligence of her own, figures out that Elijah is daggered and in danger and locates him to help free him. Sort of a loose explanation, I know, but I have a feeling y'all will overlook the logistics of it in favor of some badass Elena and a naked Elijah. **

**As you all have already guessed, I like the idea of a somewhat feisty, self-sufficient and independent Elena, without her getting too OOC. Sometimes in the show she annoys me and I think she's being a twit, but I like the general idea of her character and try to expand on the good qualities I see in her.**

**Well then, enough of my prattling on about boring and inconsequential things; enjoy! **

**0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

The door swung open easily when she pushed against it – the doorjamb had been splintered when someone kicked it in. The embers in the fireplace, though warm, had long since died out. The foyer and the living space were bathed in moonlight. There had obviously been conflict; the damage was rampant: walls bashed in, furniture broken, blood staining the ancient Persian rug crimson and smearing the white marble floors.

A single light flickered at the elbow of the stairs, illuminating more blood that splattered the walls and dribbled viscously down each step. She winced but did not hesitate to dash up the stairs, the thick carmine liquid adhering to the souls of her Converses. They would be unsalvageable after this, she thought; but it didn't matter, because she had to get to him.

He was her greatest ally. He was the only thing truly standing between her and his brother, despite her friends' valiant efforts. He was the only chance she had left.

She almost slipped in the puddle at the top of the stairs; a head lay separated from its body, the expression on the hybrid's face contorted into one of pure misery. His handiwork, surely.

But where was he?

Gentle light shone from underneath a closed door at the end of the hall. Her breath hitched, and her hand froze on the doorknob. Willing her fingers to stop shaking, she gathered her courage and entered.

With a cry she rushed into the small study, dropping to her knees beside the body sprawled on the carpet.

"Elijah!"

His usually impeccable suit was largely shredded; his dress shirt had been ripped down the front, exposing his bare torso to her gaze. His skin was a nasty shade of grey, his lips blue and veins visible all along his body. Without a second thought she tugged the dagger from his chest. She resisted the urge to fling the vile thing across the room, but instead opted to slide it under the edge of the rug – who would think to look there anyway? This way she knew where it was, and no one else.

And Klaus was out of daggers. The three others remained imbedded in the chests of Kol, Finn and Rebekah, and he could not incapacitate Elijah again without wakinganother of his siblings.

Eventually Klaus would have to decide between the lesser of two evils. Awaken one of his siblings to use the dagger on Elijah, or live with the risk of his oldest brother alive and plotting against him? On one hand, Elijah was undoubtedly the most dangerous member of his family, but Klaus would be a fool to underestimate the wrath of his other siblings.

And Klaus was no fool.

Elena's head shot up at the sound of the front door slamming open. Shoes clicked across the marble floor, and loud footsteps clunked up the stairs. One of Klaus's hybrids, come to collect the body of his brother.

She shook Elijah. His skin had lightened and the veins receded, but he had not moved and his eyes were still closed.

A magnificent sword was mounted on the wall behind the desk, the silver hilt intricately carved and the blade bearing runes that she was familiar with: Viking runes. Desperate, she stood and lifted it from its display – and nearly dropped it. It was heavy! Using both hands she lugged it with her and tiptoed to stand behind the door.

Low whistles reached her ears, singing a tune that she recognized from the radio. Blood pounded in her ears as the whistling stopped right outside the door. She held her breath, her lungs straining under the effort.

The young hybrid flashed over to Elijah's body in an instant, looming over the Original. He had his back to her, but she could imagine the frown on his face.

She saw his body tense suddenly, his head cocked, and when he began to turn she let out the breath she had been holding. He'd heard her – even she could hear her own heartbeat. She was surprised he had not noticed it before.

It was now or never. With a grunt of effort she brought the massive broadsword up and swung it sideways towards the hybrid's neck, and with some God-sent stroke of luck she hit her mark. It sliced through most of his throat, severing the bone and flesh; she felt the spray of his hot blood on her face and neck. Wincing, she pulled the sword back with all her strength and swung again, successfully removing his head from his body completely.

Copious amounts of blood ran down the blade and coated the hilt. Her hands slipped on the handle, now slick with the warm red fluid, and she sliced her hand open on the blade. She hadn't expected it to be so sharp. She cried out in pain when its keen edge cut her palm almost to the bone, and dropped the great sword on the floor, allowing its heavy weight to slip from her grasp. The nerve endings in her hand were on fire.

It was one of the most painful experiences she'd ever had. Jagged needles of pain traveled up her wrist and arm. Disgusted with herself, but needing to heal the wound, she leaned forward to swipe a finger carefully along the blade of the sword, cautious of its keen edge, and brought the collected hybrid blood to her lips, sucking it into her mouth.

She bent over and retched, dry-heaving at the taste and feel of the coppery substance on her tongue. Luckily it did the job, though, and while her hand didn't heal completely, the pain abated significantly and the bleeding stopped.

"Doppelganger bitch."

Elena had heard the expression "getting the wind knocked out of you" but she'd never known exactly what that meant until now. Something large rammed into her abdomen and she was thrown back against the wall. The air was literally dispelled from her lungs, and try as she might she could not get it back. She heaved, suffocating.

She looked up and learned that the some_thing_ was actually a some_one._ She watched as his vivid green eyes glowed yellow and his handsome face contorted into something ugly. He growled and bared his fangs, and she saw her death in his eyes.

The hybrid froze suddenly, looking stricken. His fangs retracted and his eyes faded, his expression one of dull horror. She watched, petrified, as his gaze went glassy and blood bubbled forth from his lips. She gasped as he fell forward onto her. Disgusted and panicked, she shoved him off hurriedly, sickened by the feel of his blood seeping through her shirt. He lay sprawled at her feet, his face forever frozen in death.

She gasped in relief. There he stood, in all of his Original glory, with the hybrid's heart clenched in his fist and blood staining his arm up to his elbow.

"Elijah." His name was a whisper on her tongue, a prayer of thanksgiving.

He was staring at her, his face unreadable. His chest was falling and rising, however, with unneeded breaths, and he looked pale.

"We need to leave this place."

She nodded frantically. She couldn't have agreed more. Wordlessly she followed him, stepping daintily over the bodies on the floor. She glanced at the sword one last time, remembering its keen edge hewing through flesh and bone. Bile rose once again in her throat, and she shoved it down. The blade glimmered in the light, mocking her. The carmine color of blood seemed brighter somehow, shining wetly on the metal. The runes carved into the blade were stained dark red.

It was the first time she had taken a life, but it would not be the last, she knew. This was war, after all. Whatever naivety and innocence she'd managed to hold onto had just seeped out of her; she imagined it was the same color as the liquid life force that stained her clothing.

A gunmetal-grey Jeep Wrangler sat in the driveway of the large Tudor-style home, the keys in the ignition. She was shocked when Elijah instantly climbed into the passenger seat, forgetting to move.

"Elena," he snapped at her. "Drive."

She jolted and ran around to the driver's side, chastising herself. _Way to keep your wits about you, Elena. Idiot._ She buckled herself in and cranked the car, turning her high beams on and tearing out of the gravel driveway like the hounds of hell were hot on their tail.

She supposed they were, in a way. Klaus was probably the closest thing to a creature from hell that existed.

"Take a right up here at the stop sign," Elijah ordered quietly. His voice was even, but hoarse. She could not see him well in the dark, but she noticed his hands were clutching his knees. His knuckles were white.

"Where are we going?" she asked, still breathless from the adrenaline coursing through her body.

"Conveniently enough there is a cabin less than an hour from here, near the Tennessee border," he explained. "I own it, but it is under the name of a human contact of mine, so no vampire or hybrid can enter without permission. I haven't been there in quite some time…but it should be a safe place to regroup for the next twenty-four hours."

The rest of the trip passed in tense silence, both of them still wound tightly from the conflict at the house. By the time they arrived at the house she had noticed how labored his breathing had become. She pulled around the back of the house, hiding the Jeep out of sight amid some pine trees.

The house was unlocked, and seemed untouched. Nothing stirred around it. Elijah flicked the switch on a lamp, illuminating a cozy sitting room with a large stone fireplace, a small and tidy kitchen, and stairs that most likely led to a bedroom on the second level.

As soon as the door closed behind her Elijah was zooming into the kitchen, tearing open the refrigerator with such force she thought the door might come off. The expression on his face was one she'd never seen him wear before; one that made a shiver travel down her spine.

Absolute horror.

"No," he whispered. "There should be…"

He turned to her slowly, his face ashen. It was then that she came to the realization she should have recognized from the beginning, and it chilled her to the bone.

He was _hungry._

Of course he was hungry. He hadn't been daggered for more than a few hours, but it was enough to weaken him significantly. That's why he hadn't been able to drive; he could probably barely stand. For the longest time she had put Elijah Mikaelson on a pedestal, separating him from others of his kind; but she had been a fool. Just because she'd never personally seen him partake in blood, from a bag or otherwise, did not mean he didn't. He ran on the same fuel as every other vampire on earth: the life force that flowed through the veins of human beings.

The look he gave her was dark. She'd never seen such intensity – from anyone. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes that had her swallowing. He was almost…menacing. She felt like a cornered rabbit.

"Elena," he said softly, his gaze boring into hers. She could not look away. "You need to run now." His words were strained. His jaw ticked. "Back away from me slowly. Get outside to the car, lock yourself in, and drive as fast as you can away from this place."

"You need blood," she stated bluntly, as if convincing herself.

"Yes."

"And there is none."

"No."

She pulled the sleeve of her sweater up to her elbow with a sudden steely determination. "Take some from me."

The growl that rumbled up from his chest was low and completely inhuman. It made her shudder. He bared his teeth at her, his fangs springing from his gums.

"_No."_

She huffed. She realized that exasperation was the last thing she should be feeling right now, after oh, I don't know, _fear, terror, disgust._ The fact that she felt nothing but a slight trepidation and tingling arousal was a testament to just how screwed up she really was.

"Yes, Elijah," she demanded, stepping towards him. She suddenly grasped the concept that his impeccable self-control was perhaps _not_ as impeccable as usual. She swallowed, nervous, but still unwilling to back down. "I need you at your best right now – what if Klaus finds us here? We'll both be vulnerable if you're not at full strength, and, before you argue about hunting down some poor animal, we _both_ know that animal blood won't work. You need blood, and you need it now. Be logical about this."

She saw the veins raise underneath his eyes, saw him struggle to make them disappear. He slipped past her into the living room, sitting on the armchair farthest away from her. His fingers laced together; to keep his hands from trembling, she realized.

"No," he replied, but this time his voice was less firm. His resolve was shaking. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Elena. I am incredibly weak right now; I am not entirely sure I can get my bloodlust under control once I start." She took a step forward, and he held up a hand in warning, refusing to look at her. "You have approximately sixty seconds to remove yourself from my presence. Leave. Now."

Elijah stiffened when she slowly stepped across the room. She was mere feet away from him now, and her blood sang to him. He inhaled deeply, the potent smell of her blood clouding his senses. Her sexual desire for him was prominent too, he noticed, and despite his body's weakness it still managed to send blood rushing south, fueling his lust for her.

"I trust you to know when to stop, Elijah," she said quietly, her liquid brown eyes incredibly large in her pretty heart-shaped face. "Please – I hate seeing you like this," she admitted. "You've done so much for me over the past three years while I've been on the run, protecting me in ways my friends couldn't. Let me do something for you in return."

He could not find it within himself to protest, this time; tiredness seeped into his body. He was exhausted, and he was so _hungry._ He felt his face change, felt the familiar ache of his fangs descending from his gums as the smell and sound and sight of the blood pulsing through her arteries consumed him.

She quivered as his eyes flooded red – this was the first time she had ever truly seen his vampire visage, and it scared her. But she had come to trust Elijah, and she liked to think he trusted her in return – they had not broken their word to each other since he helped her escape from his brother after Klaus had snapped and attempted to kidnap her after the Mikaelson ball and all the drama with Esther. Their alliance had only solidified with time, and despite the fact that she rarely saw him their bond of mutual respect and affection had strengthened.

Elena offered her wrist once again, giving him a shy, encouraging smile, and he leaned forward in his chair and grasped her arm. His fingers were cold, and they pressed into her skin just firmly enough to bruise. She prepared herself for the feel of his fangs in her wrist.

Instead of biting into it as she expected, however, he pulled her forward gently so that she was stumbling into his lap, his hands wrapping around her waist to bring her to settle comfortably straddling his thighs.

"It will be less painful for you if I take it from the neck," he explained softly, his fingers pressing into her ribs to keep her in place. "Tie your hair back," he commanded gently.

She did as he asked, sweeping her hair up into a ponytail high upon her neck. Her breasts look especially perky and delectable. He could not help himself anymore; she shuddered as his tongue darted out to lick a trail up her neck, relishing in the taste of her skin.

"God, you smell good," he whispered into the crook of her shoulder, placing a kiss there. His gums throbbing with hunger, he grasped her waist with one hand and the nape of her neck with the other, and slid his teeth into her flesh.

He attempted to be gentle with her, not wanting to hurt her any more than necessary, but he was not prepared for the potency of her blood and the little hiccupping noises she made. He pulled her sharply into his body, crushing her chest to his and yanking her down on his lap. She let out a sharp and sudden keen when he pressed his raging erection against her core. She could feel the hardness of him through her jeans, and she had an embarrassing lack of control over her body as she ground herself into him in response, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

His fangs slid deeper into her artery and her tongued the flesh of her neck, working her blood to the surface of her skin and sucking it down greedily. She made a pained noise in the back of her throat, but her actions belied the sound as she pressed her hand to the back of his head, tangling in his thick hair. He would not have been able to stop anyway, he thought, ashamed; it was not enough. Not yet.

Her blood rushed through his veins. His skin flushed back to its normal color, and his limbs regained their strength, squeezing her tightly against his body. His arousal grew against her center, becoming impossibly hard as his bloodlust and his lust for her body raged out of control. He took deep pulls from her throat, gulping her life force down without abandon.

"Elijah," she moaned. He heard the warning tone in her voice, heard her breath hitch and her heart slow. He tore himself away from her neck, breathing hard. He stared at her in horror. Though he was always a neat and efficient eater, blood leaked down her neck and disappeared into the collar of her sweater, and he felt it gather at the corners of his mouth. He licked them away, unwilling to waste a drop but simultaneously consumed by his shame.

He immediately bit into his wrist and offered it to her; she hesitated for only a moment before she lowered her lips to the broken skin and drank. His head fell back at the feel of her lips on his skin. He closed his eyes. If he looked at her now…it was just too dangerous.

He jolted and his eyes snapped open when her lips brushed against his. It had been a while since anyone had managed to genuinely surprise him with such an act. He buried his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, loosening it from her ponytail. He pulled her head away from his, attempting to put distance between them, but he failed miserably when, of its own accord, his head followed hers forward, unable to pull his mouth from the delicate pink petals of her lips.

It was her who deepened the contact, sliding her hands into his hair and slanting her mouth across his, nipping at his lips until they opened under her urging. Her tongue moved insistently across his. He returned her kiss with vigor, hands sliding down to settle at her hips, pushing beneath the material of her sweater so he could feel the warmth of her skin against his palms.

She whimpered quietly against his mouth – finally trusting that he was as invested in the kiss as she was and would no longer try to pull away from him, she released the back of his head to slide her hands down his shoulders to his chest. She pushed the edges of his destroyed shirt and jacket off his shoulders and he leaned forward to facilitate their removal, removing his hands from her body briefly to shrug them off. Her hands wandered across the bare muscles of his torso; she moaned in appreciation, pulling away to look at him. He gasped as she thumbed his nipples.

"Elena."

He should stop. _You should stop._ Even as he thought it he was tugging her blood-soaked shirt over her head and deftly flicking open the clasp of her bra. His self-loathing was swallowed by his desire for her. He pressed her nipple against the flat of his tongue. Her answering moan was his undoing.

Elena Gilbert was his greatest weakness – perhaps his _only_ weakness. He wanted her, every part of her, and he couldn't help but imagine claiming her as his, turning her, loving her for eternity. Elijah had never thought of himself as foolish, but the hope that she would _let_ him bubbled up in his chest and he could not suppress it. The way she was grinding herself against him had his heart constricting and his loins burning for more.

His patience hanging by a thread he lifted her up and pushed her back onto the rug. He stared at her a moment, drinking her in. Belatedly he realized he should give her a second to think, to reconsider, to pull away. She merely gazed at him, her eyes nearly black, leaving her torso bare to his roaming eyes. Goose bumps erupted on her skin, and he reached over her body to flip the switch on the wall next to the fireplace. It flared to life, and she sighed in pleasure as its warmth licked at her skin. The flames cast her body in shades of orange and gold, painting her in shadow and light. His vampire nature was pleased when he noticed the pink stains on her body from where blood had soaked through her shirt. As morbid as it should have been it sent a thrill down his spine. He thought she had never looked more beautiful, or more alluring.

She unlaced one bloody sneaker; he unlaced the other. Leaning over her with one hand on the floor to support his weight, he trailed a hand down her body, skimming it in between her breasts and over her naval. She shivered; this time it was not from the cold. He flicked open the button of her jeans and sat back on his heels, drawing her zipper down slowly, torturously. He smirked as she groaned in frustration, lifting her hips up as he tugged her jeans down her hips, bringing her panties with them. His hands wasted no time in gliding up the smooth skin of her legs.

Her instinct was to close her legs, hiding her womanhood from his piercing gaze, but his hands were insistent in pulling her legs apart, running his wide palms against her inner thighs. She cried out when he finally touched her, his calloused fingers running up her slit to test her wetness before sliding into her body. Her eyes squeezed shut as pleasure coursed through her body. Not only were his hands doing incredible things to her, but just the idea of him with her, throwing his controlled persona aside to be with her, had her writhing. The thought that she had managed to break through his aloof façade, crack open his hard outer shell…that thought alone had her panting in arousal.

He was more than she'd ever dreamed of. He fulfilled every desire, seemed to know her body's every wish. He touched her like he had known her forever, his hands and mouth working miracles with her body. After minutes of torture he worked her to her peak, her body spread out like a feast before him as his mouth sucked at her clit and his fingers buried herself between her legs. She came with a wail, shaking apart beneath him, and as she gushed around his digits he moved up her body and slid himself into her sheath without a hitch.

Her hands flew to his shoulders in surprise, her eyes wide as her channel adjusted around his thick length. Her fingernails made half-moon crescents in the skin of his shoulders. He gritted his teeth, lust coursing through his body. Mentally applauding himself for having the patience of a saint, he withdrew from her body slowly and pushed back in equally as slowly, sliding all the way home and pressing the tip of his cock firmly against her womb.

"Oh, God," she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed. "Oh God, oh God, oh God. _Elijah."_

His name uttered from her lips was music to his ears. Her mouth was parted sweetly. He could hear her heart thunder underneath her ribcage.

He growled quietly in satisfaction, a deep rumble within his chest. He held himself up over her body with his arms and looked down into her face. His eyes never leaving hers, he rolled his hips against her with a practiced expertise as he pushed into her tight, supple body, relishing in the cry that tore from her lips. Smiling, he thrust into her again and established a steady pace, plowing into her until her eyes went hazy.

She was moaning uncontrollably now, her head thrashing. He shifted and brought a hand to briefly cup her breast before using it to angle her hips just so, allowing him deeper penetration. When she let out a sharp cry, he smirked in satisfaction, knowing he'd found her inner bundle of nerves. He wrapped her leg around his hips and slammed into her over and over again, hitting that spot within her repeatedly until she was coming apart beneath him again, her eyes closed and her lips parted in ecstasy.

Heat coursed through Elena's body as her second orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave, surging through her body and leaving her muscles weak and quivering. Spots of light danced behind her eyelids, and when she cracked them open, she blinked them away so she could gaze at him. He gave her a smile that had her melting, and continued to assault her body until all traces of amusement had faded from his face and he was surging into her at vampire speed, knocking the breath from her lungs with every sharp thrust.

Somehow her leg had ended up over his shoulder, bent at a seemingly impossible angle, and the position had her body shaking like a leaf. She sobbed in pleasure, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Pleasure was a double-edged sword, as keen as the blade she'd wielded earlier. She remembered the easy slice of it through her palm, the severing of flesh and nerves. Except now the nerves throughout her entire body were on fire, sparking under her skin.

She didn't realize that she was yelling, her voice getting hoarser as she cried his name over and over as he plunged deep within her body, fucking her without abandon. He heard himself murmur her name as his orgasm loomed over him, his stomach tightening in anticipation of his release. Sensing she was close, wanting to make her explode one last time before he finished (this round, that is), he brought his hand down between their bodies and rubbed at her clit, slick with her juices. Her back arched off the floor and she screamed as she came violently around his cock, her face flushed and her thighs quivering.

He let out a strangled groan and tipped over the edge with her, shooting his cum deep within the folds of her body. "Oh, _fuck,"_ he ground out, his hips jerking against hers as his orgasm flooded through him, a mirror image of her own climax.

When they were finished he held himself above her for a few more moments, still lodged deep within her pulsing cunt, before he let her leg slide from her shoulder and rolled off of her, collapsing to her side on his back.

He waited patiently for her to come down from her high, her breathing labored. Sweat glistened on her body from exertion and from the heat of the fire. He listened, entranced, as her heartbeat slowed, pounding steadily within her chest.

Their shoulders touched, just barely. He glanced at her peripherally, suddenly feeling very unsure of himself. She was staring at the ceiling, her face slack. He sensed no tenseness in her body, but remained unknowing of her feelings.

What if she hated him? No. That was improbable – not his Elena. But what if she regretted it? What if things were never the same between them, and she no longer wanted anything to do with him? He – _they_ – had crossed very clearly defined boundaries that they had formed between them. In fact, there was nothing left. She had stripped him of everything, and he lay bare and eviscerated on the floor next to her, vulnerable. None of his defenses remained. As much as he'd tried to protect himself against Elena Gilbert, she had laid siege to his heart and had torn down all of his walls.

In one word, he was _wrecked._

He stiffened when she hooked a leg over his, and then relaxed instantly when, without looking at him, she caught his hand in her own, gently squeezing his fingers. It was no grand gesture of love, but the simple display of affection was like a sharp knife, a keen blade that peeled relentlessly away at his heart.

Elena smiled in relief when he entwined his fingers with hers, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. Her palm was completely healed now, of course, but blood still covered her arm. His arm was painted crimson, too, the grisly smears now drying and caked to his skin, tangling the fine hairs on his arms.

Eventually he picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and carried her upstairs to the shower. His gaze never left hers as he washed her body; the soap smelled like him, and suddenly she realized that she had always sought out that scent – truthfully since the day she'd met him in that old dilapidated plantation house. She sighed in satisfaction, leaning against his shoulder. It was only moments before he had her writhing against him again, and he promptly bent her over and fucked her under the hot spray of the shower, bracing her hands against the walls and ploughing into her tight little body from behind.

They made love like this all night until the early hours of the morning when the sky began to lighten; on the bed, on the floor, against the wall, bent over the counter – every which way. He gave her his blood again to help her recover from the onslaught, and then curled up next to her on the bed, reveling in the warmth of her body under the covers.

Elena smiled into his chest as she snuggled into his hard body, feeling sated and, for the first time in nearly five years, utterly safe. And something else, too…

Happy. Yes, that's what it was. She'd almost forgotten what the weightlessness of joy felt like on her heart.

She felt him whisper something in another language into her hair, and she sighed in comfort as his arms wrapped around her securely.

Closing her eyes, she slipped into exhaustion with a smile on her face.

**000000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

**Random, I know, but thanks for reading! The next chapter for Propositions will be up within the next couple of days, I promise. I just had to get this out of my system first.**

**Review if you feel so inclined! xoxo**


End file.
